Chapter 4 – Blood and Blueprints
The basement vault was freezing, thick with the stench of damp concrete, old leather, and gun oil.
Viktor Vance sat bolted to a heavy oak table beneath the glare of a bare overhead bulb. His wrists were cuffed to a steel ring anchored deep into the foundation. Across from him stood his older brother, Marcus, his face pale with sheer horror.
“You’ve lost your mind, Dominic!” Marcus growled, leaning low over the table. “Viktor’s audited our logistics for three years! He has nothing to do with this!”
The reinforced door swung open.
Dominic walked in. His suit jacket was gone; his dress shirt sleeves were rolled up, exposing thick, scarred forearms. He completely ignored Marcus, fixing his dark, unblinking eyes on Viktor.
Viktor attempted a smug grin, though his left eye twitched nervously. “Come on, Mr. Moretti. This is insane. Marcus, tell him. I was in the west wing filing inventory logs during the event.”
“Is that so?” Dominic asked softly. He reached into his pocket and tossed a small, heavy object onto the oak table.
It clattered across the wood and settled under the light.
A small, antique gold watch with a cracked glass face.
Viktor’s smirk disintegrated. Every drop of color drained from his face, leaving him as gray as the concrete behind him.
“Looks familiar, Viktor?” Dominic murmured, pulling up a heavy chair and sitting down, resting his elbows on his knees. “A three-year-old girl took notice of it. She heard the ticking. And she saw the jagged scar running across your thumb—the one you picked up on the Jersey docks three years back.”
Marcus slowly turned to his younger brother, his voice cracking. “Viktor… tell me that isn’t yours.”
“Shut your mouth, Marcus!” Viktor snarled, dropping his act as panic took over. He glared bitterly at Dominic. “You think you’re invincible, Moretti! You sit up in your palace playing god while the Chicago and Brooklyn syndicates slice up your supply lines behind your back! I wasn’t going to murder the boy—I was sending a message! Proving your fortress is wide open!”
The room went dead silent.
Marcus drew a ragged breath, his fingers trembling. He drew his sidearm, pressed the cold steel barrel straight against Viktor’s forehead, and pulled back the hammer.
“Marcus,” Dominic said, his calm tone halting the man instantly.
Marcus looked at his boss, eyes brimming with rage and betrayal. “He went after your boy, boss. He disgraced my name and breached your house. Let me put him down.”
“Not in this house,” Dominic said, standing up with deliberate composure. “Take him to the riverfront facility off the Hudson. Make sure he fully grasps the difference between delivering a message and signing his own death warrant.”
As Marcus dragged his kicking, screaming brother out by the collar, Dominic stood alone beneath the swaying light, his thoughts already turning to the broader threat.
